


Never Tell Me the Odds

by RingingSilence



Series: TMA/Star Wars AU [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Jedi!Martin, Jon is a Nerd, Moral Ambiguity, No beta we kayak like Tim, No canon Star-Wars characters the Archives are taking over, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Indulgent Banter, Star Wars-Typical Violence, mainly based on the movies and Clone Wars, no promises on JMArt but there's a non-zero chance, roughly set during A New Hope but make it later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RingingSilence/pseuds/RingingSilence
Summary: Several things happened in quick succession.The stormtrooper's order was cut off by a startled shout as he flew back out the door even though no one was close enough to touch him. The door slammed closed behind him and Jon jumped as two massive bookshelves crashed into it. He turned his head and there was Mr. Blackwood, one arm raised and wearing a determined frown. After a beat he looked back at Jon and the frown melted into a sheepish smile.Jon stared up at him, paralyzed by the creeping realization. "...No."Jon didn't ask to be caught up in a rebellion. Martin didn't ask to be found by the Empire. Neither of them are really getting a choice in the matter.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Series: TMA/Star Wars AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074572
Comments: 23
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I owe this map so much](http://www.swgalaxymap.com/) for helping keep my setting-planning down to six hours instead of what it could have been.

The galaxy is on the brink of civil war. For twenty-four years  


The Emperor has ruled from the Core world of Coruscant,  


conquering planets that didn’t fall into line with his army of  


Stormtroopers and abducting citizens to replenish their ranks.  


For just as long, The Rebellion has been striking bases and cities  


aligned with the Emperor under the guidance of the mysterious  


and ruthless General Montague.

After a daring attack on the Grand Imperial Library on Scarif,  


Rebel spies have managed to obtain a map detailing the  


locations of Stormtrooper training facilities throughout  


the Mid Rim. It is feared that the General may use this  


information to wipe out these institutions regardless of the  


brain-washed civilians trapped inside. In response, the  


Emperor’s forces have increased their presence on many worlds  


and skirmishes between the Empire and the Rebellion are on  


the rise…leaving the galaxy’s inhabitants trapped in the middle.

Deep within the Outer Rim, the planet Florrum remains  


one of the last outside of the Empire’s iron grasp.  


Within that nest of pirates and outlaws the town of Galleo  


stands as the sole imperial outpost and a sort of neutral ground  


between the local pirate bands and those who would attempt  


to escape the fighting in the rest of the galaxy.

The dingy little shop was about as busy as it ever was when Jon ducked inside, which was to say: barely. A cluster of kids stood murmuring around a bargain bin of holodisks, trying and failing to hide one’s datapad as he copied one of the disks. A handful of more mature patrons browsed the tall shelves of second-hand books. None of them acknowledged Jon as he stalked to the front desk and squinted into the darkness beyond. There was no sign of movement from the little back room, but Jon knew better than to think the shop was actually unattended. “Hello?”

He nearly tripped over his own feet jumping back when a cheery voice replied from just behind the counter. “I’ll be right with you!”

By the time the shopkeeper stood up and set aside the stack of books he’d been organizing, Jon was reasonably sure his aloof frown was back in place. Just in case, he straightened his pale green robes and lifted his chin. “I would appreciate if you didn’t try to give a paying customer a heart attack, Mr. Blackwood.”

Mr. Blackwood rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it, _Mr. Sims_.” 

The sarcastic emphasis on his name might have made Jon self-conscious once. He’d been embarrassed by its simplicity as a child: a plain, boring name for an ordinary boy growing up on a barely notable shipyard planet in the capital’s shadow. Nothing interesting could happen to someone named _Jonathan Sims_. 

Then he’d seen a man with eyes that glowed a toxic green and his world had shattered, literally. Since then he’d brandished the quiet name like a shield.

“Jon will do,” he grumbled. “Do you have anything for me today or should I leave before you disparage my taste in research material again?”

Mr. Blackwood chuckled and crouched back out of sight. “Sure, sure. Who am I to judge if you keep asking after _illicit subjects?_ ”

Jon flinched, casting a panicked glance over the shop behind him. No one was looking at them. He leaned over the counter and hissed: “need I remind you that I won’t be the only one the Emperor’s forces come after if word gets out?”

The shopkeeper tilted his head back to raise an eyebrow at him. “That a scholar is reading dusty old books about the Republic? Relax, Jon. When was the last time you actually saw a stormtrooper around here, anyway?”

“It pays to be careful.”

“Well, Mr. Careful Sims, What bit of trivia do you have for me today?”

Jon scowled and let out an indignant huff. “Fine… Have you heard about the clone factory that used to exist on Kamino?”

“I think everyone has heard something about the birthplace of the stormtroopers,” Martin muttered, smirking as he pulled books from a hidden shelf. He glanced thoughtfully at the covers before putting them back.

“But did you know that the explosion that destroyed it was considered one of the first public acts of the Rebellion?”

Martin paused to squint up at him. “…I thought it was some technical issue?”

Jon couldn’t help but grin. “Not according to the official inquest.”

“Did the report say anything about who?”

Jon slumped against the countertop. “Unfortunately whoever made the original report made a mistake: it claims that a Jedi Master Robinson was seen leaving just before the explosion, but she was executed days prior during the siege of Anaxes. Any other records that might have clarified were either missing or replaced by the common version.”

Mr. Blackwood sighed wistfully. “Oh, to be a scholar spending my days uncovering conspiracies and government secrets.”

“Yes, well. After weeks of tax documents and senate requests it is refreshing to find a little excitement.” He leaned back off the counter so Martin could set his chosen books on the surface, loosely wrapped in plain fabric. 

“Maybe that good luck will hold out a little longer.”

With another cautious glance at the rest of the shop Jon folded back the cloth. The top two books were faded but intact enough to suggest they had survived the quarter-century since the fall of the Republic hidden on a bookshelf somewhere. The first, _A History of the Galactic Senate_ , he barely glanced over before dismissing. The second was slightly more interesting: _Our Friends the Clones_ was clearly a childrens’ book but the man on the cover shaking the hand of a stormtrooper had the familiar glint of a lightsaber hilt winking from the folds of his cloak. Jon took a moment to flip through a few pages before sliding it into his sleeve, pausing when the final cover was revealed. It was a journal, battered and worn much more than its companions had been. It was unadorned with either title or pictures so he braved drawing it out of the cloth for closer inspection. “What is this?”

Mr. Blackwood shrugged. “Just an old journal. It’s pre-Fall so I thought it might interest you.”

Jon hunched over it and let it fall open. The first words that caught his eye were 'old masters' and he felt his heart skip a beat as he skimmed the rest of the passage. The handwriting was barely legible, placed by an unsteady hand, and didn’t express much of any real historic note but it did seem to be written by a young Jedi trainee. They talked about a lesson on lifting objects with the Force and mentioned starting training in saber combat. 

“This belonged to…what, a padawan,” he asked in a hush.

“Ah, an initiate, actually. Too young to be apprenticed yet.” 

Jon scoffed quietly. “Too young to be apprenticed when they started training as children?”

“Training with a master would have been different from training with their clan!”

“It was all still developing the same skill-set, wasn’t it?”

“Says mister ‘there’s a stark difference between moons and planetoids’.”

“There is!” Jon caught himself before he could go off on a tangent. “Anyway, how much do I owe you for the two? I doubt the journal was easy to find.”

Martin hummed, tracing a corner of the journal with his finger. “Tell you what, bring the journal back when you’re done and they’re five credits.”

“Only five?”

“It’s not like you won’t be back here in a week,” Martin said with a cheeky smile. “Besides, who else would I be able to sell this junk to? If I don’t get the journal back in two weeks you’ll owe me two hundred, how’s that? Should be plenty of time for you to devour it and write a whole novel about your theories on Jedi training.”

Jon scowled, even knowing how ineffective it was, and reached into his pocket. “Ridiculous. You are utterly, incomprehensibly ridiculous, Mr. Blackwood.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Jon laid the credits on the counter and slid the journal into his sleeve with the first. “Well, thank you once again for your assistance. I’ll be sure it returns in the same condition when I’m finished.”

“I know you will. Oh, and Mr. Sims?”

Jon paused on his way out the door. 

Martin fidgeted behind the counter. “I, erm…I hope it’s… insightful.”

“I’m sure it will be. Please, Jon will do.”

The man’s usual smirk returned. “Only when you call me Martin.”

Most of the desert town of Galleo was made of squat, sand-scrubbed buildings and scrap-metal stalls. Everything was built with function and practicality in mind, which just made the grand peaks of the Lord Magnus Imperial Library of Florrum stand out even more. It towered over the rest of the town with grand polished iron doors and exterior walls that had probably been white before the years of sandstorms had blasted them to a soft tan. Jon didn’t pay the grandeur any mind as he hurried up the steps, nearly tripping over a trio of gnarled weequay lounging in his way. They scowled up at him and one started to reach for the rusty blaster hanging off of their hip but froze when Jon tapped his knee twice. After a tense stare-off the would-be aggressor draped an arm across their lap to subtly return the gesture and allowed him to pass. Jon didn’t spare the group another glance, focused as he was on getting inside. 

Gleaming sandstone pillars greeted him, standing sentinel along the walls of the empty lobby up to the Magnus Library’s front desk. Rosie, a sharp-eyed and friendly Pantoran, was stationed there to direct visitors and ensure that the library’s contents weren’t removed from the building. Polished glass doors behind the desk opened into the library proper: rows upon rows of dark wooden shelves containing books and copies of holo-messages gathered from throughout the galaxy filled its two floors, available for perusal and carefully guarded by a handful of green-robed librarians. Terminals with access to the Imperial Database sat in the center of the room, powered down unless library staff activated them. Jon veered away from the grand glass doors to approach a plain metal one off to the side and he slipped inside without so much as a wave to anyone. 

The annex he stepped into was no more populous than the lobby but it was marginally brighter: sunlight streamed in through a few rows of narrow window slats on the second floor and each of the room’s three desks had a lamp already lighting its surface. Plain sandstone bookshelves were carved into the walls and lain heavy with boxes that would have bowed wooden shelves. With a cautious glance around, Jon sat down behind a scuffed and crowded desk and carefully laid out his purchases. The childrens’ book he tucked into one of the haphazard stacks of folders while the journal he rested right in the curve of his arm. With one last look around he carefully opened it and settled in to read. 

His first assessment was correct: it was indeed the journal of a Jedi trainee, living and studying at the temple on Coruscant. The journal didn’t talk extensively about the initiate themselves but it did make numerous mentions of things they wanted to tell their mother about whenever they next saw her. Jon knew from previous studies that young force-wielders were taken to start their training when they were still young, some even as young as infants, but nothing about contact with their families after. The journal’s owner seemed to suggest they were allowed to but there weren’t any mentions of the visits actually occurring. 

He was so focused on reading that Jon didn’t notice when he was no longer alone in the archive, unprepared when the newcomer crept up behind him.

“Anything good?”

He jumped, nearly upending his chair and sending the journal and a number of files flying off the desk. A firm hand on the back of his chair saved him from falling but he still shot the Togruta standing behind him a sour look. “A little warning would have been polite, Sasha.”

The woman grinned and let him set the chair back on all four legs. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. You’ve been so buried in work lately. Someone had to snap you out of it.”

“So you decided to take it upon yourself, in Tim’s absence?”

“It’s not like you have any other assistants to do it.” She left his side and he reached out just a second too late to stop her. She picked up the journal, turning it over carefully. “What’s this? Another find from Blackwood’s?”

He extricated himself from behind the desk and tried urgently not to look as flustered as he felt. “I-It’s nothing. Personal research.”

One white-highlit brow rose and Sasha started to open it. “Personal? You mean—“

He plucked the journal from her grasp. “I mean nothing you need to concern yourself with. It’s not anything that belongs in the collection.”

“Is it something illegal?”

“ _It’s nothing you need concern yourself with!_ ”

“Jonathan Sims,” she said with a slow grin. “Are you breaking the law?”

“It is an archivist’s duty to ensure pertinent information is replicated into the Emperor’s collection and any illegal texts are properly destroyed,” he replied, tucking the journal under his arm. “I am merely continuing an ongoing line of inquiry, much like I hope you have been for that report by Commander Watts.”

Still grinning, Sasha ambled over to her own desk. “Jon Sims, head archivist of the Florrum branch of the Magnus Library, digging into the Empire’s dirty secrets right under the Emperor’s nose.”

“It’s nothing as seditious as that,” he grumbled. “And would you please keep it down? If anyone even thought that was true—“

“No worries, Jon. Your secret is safe with me…and speaking of secret research…” She shuffled through the papers on her desk for a moment, probably intentionally drawing out the tension until he’d just started to reach for a pen to throw at her. “Apparently your favorite pirate gang is on the move.”

While not forgotten, his worries about the journal were pushed aside and he dropped it into a random drawer in his desk. “Where? When?”

“This morning about an hour southwest of here, according to the sentry. They could’ve just been going after the supply transport due in Farthen, but he thought he saw at least a dozen and at least two loaded speeders.”

“That would explain our guests outside. If they are moving they could be in town to gather additional rations and fuel…but why now? They’ve been camped out in the Ribcages for a few months now. What changed?”

She shrugged. “Maybe they caught wind of the Imperial inspection and decided not to take chances.”

He paused half-way into his chair. “Imperial inspection?”

“Didn’t Rosie tell you? I guess we’re getting someone in the next few days to make sure the library is in ‘acceptable condition’. Who knows why they want to check on an Outer Rim territory.” 

“Maybe they’re hunting for Rebellion cells using the inspection as cover.” Jon pushed the drawer containing the journal a little more firmly closed. “Although with the standoff I’d expect the pirates to remove any Rebel intruders they come across before they could draw imperial attention to Florrum. No need to antagonize the Emperor into an attack.”

“Makes sense,” Sasha said. Silence crept back in for a few minutes and Jon shifted his focus to the stack of military statements on his desk. 

“You’ve never explained the weequay,” Sasha called over. 

“What about them? The piracy? As a desolate Outer Rim world, Florrum is a prime location—“

“No, I understand the piracy,” she said. “I meant why you keep such close tabs on them. Tim says you keep a closer eye on them than the Empire.”

He hunched over his desk, trying to look busy even as his eyes skipped over the lines without absorbing any of them. “It pays to be prepared.”

“Like how you memorized the parts and functions of smaller shuttles? Just in case you need to hotwire a ride out of here?”

He scowled at her. She merely put her chin in her hand and smiled back. The dim library lights caught on the akul teeth laying across her collar like a mantle. “You and Tim are both so fixated on my reasons for transferring here. I’ve told you before: I just wanted to go somewhere far from the Rebellion.”

“Nobody just chooses to come to _Florrum_.”

“You did, and Shili warriors aren’t well-known for exiling themselves to the back rooms of libraries. This job isn’t too boring for you?”

She shrugged. “The pursuit of knowledge is a worthy hunt, isn’t it?”

He grumbled and hunched a little closer to his papers. “…Speaking of, any word from Tim?”

She shrugged, finally turning her attention back on her own work. “I’m sure he’s fine. He used to ship goods for Empire bases throughout the Outer Rim. A few stops for files and statements won’t be nearly as dangerous.”

“Right….right…” He couldn’t help glancing up at the third desk, decorated with some sort of kitschy wood carving Tim had picked up at some tourist-stop and a battered toy starship. It looked oddly lonely without its boisterous occupant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally do such short chapters but the next chapter heads straight into the plot and I needed to post something before I chicken out. Shout-out to the friend who encouraged me to do a title crawl even though they usually laugh at my nerdy ideas. :P
> 
> Until we get a few chapters in and I get back some confidence I probably won't reply to comments but if you're reading this: hello! Thank you so much for reading! I've been having a lot of fun with this AU and I hope you do, too <3 (I should warn you, I also ramble in the endnotes)
> 
> Me, ~1 month ago while watching The Mandalorian: What if....TMA, but they're Jedi? No, stupid idea.  
> Me, Later: ...but what if Jedi-Martin? And Jon is Just Some Guy?


	2. Chapter 2

“…Statement ends.” Jon set the sheet down in the limited desk space and blew out a long breath. “It is curious that the Senate representative from Shili expressed reluctance to approve General Nolan’s plan to expand: historically they have shown very little interest in arguing with the Empire, although that may have more to do with their planet’s proximity to Coruscant and less with their actual opinions. After the Fall a number of planets represented in the Senate denounced the retribution against the Jedi and the more…vocal ones were soon made major centers for Imperial Army activity, Shili included. Few were bold enough to ignore that warning, particularly in the systems close to the capital. However, perhaps with the Empire distracted by its struggle with the Rebellion… Well, my assistants and I will keep an eye on events back in the Core. I would ask my assistants directly about their perspectives on the matter but past experience shows they prefer not to discuss politics, at least not with me. Whatever their opinions are, they’ve proven time and again to be invaluable help during follow-up research.”

He reached for the button to end the statement and hesitated. “I’m not sure why I record these follow-up reports. There are dozens of other Magnus Libraries scattered across the galaxy. What are the odds that anyone will ever hear these? Well, if you do have the misfortune of listening to these I hope it is at the very least informative. End recording.”

The terminal flashed when he stopped the recording, bathing the tiny room in soothing blue light. The main library had multiple terminals for accessing the Library Database, but as the division tasked with digitizing any materials that were not yet in the system the archives had their own tucked away in what was little more than a closet. It was a space to record without distractions or background noise, even if it wasn’t the most comfortable, and it provided the archives staff Database-access for their follow-ups in case the nicer ‘public’ terminals were already taken. It was convenient, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to set up when the archivists fell behind on recordings. 

Carefully, precariously, Jon managed to get out of his chair and swept up the piles of statements and follow-up research stacked around him. He fumbled for a moment to get the door open with all of the folders in his arms but he managed to turn the knob and it creaked open without him dropping anything. He took a moment to silently celebrate before squeezing through. “Sasha, have you finished looking into the—?“

The archives were still and silent. Jon stretched up on his toes and craned his neck looking for her striped montralls up on the second floor or hiding between bookshelves but the room was deserted. He squinted at the clock on the wall: later than he’d thought but it was still early enough in the afternoon that she wouldn’t have left yet. At the very least she would have stopped to say she was leaving if not to bully him into heading out as well. The most reasonable explanation was that she was just in the main library looking something up on one of their terminals since he’d been monopolizing the archives’ so with that reassurance Jon headed back to his desk.

He set the folders down, and paused.

He had been reading Blackwood’s journal whenever Sasha was out of the room, stowing it in the drawer between stolen moments so it wouldn’t be seen. Nobody had any reason to enter the archives besides the archivists which meant that nothing should be disturbed. 

However, the drawer sat just slightly ajar and when he pulled it fully open it was empty. 

He spun in place, looking for the journal’s weathered spine among the neat folders and boxes shoved onto the shelves all around the room. He checked the drawer again, then poked through the folders piled on his desk, even dared to give Sasha’s desk a careful sweep. The journal was nowhere to be found. 

With one last anxious check of his desk he stalked across the room to the side-entrance to the main library and pushed the door open. He barely had time to see a cluster of white helmets facing one of the librarians before he automatically closed the door again. 

Stormtroopers. On Florrum. In the Magnus Library. Right when someone had found the journal.

Slowly, soundlessly, he turned around and headed towards the door to the lobby. Thankfully there were no signs of the Empire’s forces waiting for him but before he could make his escape Rosie called over from the desk. “Oh, Mr. Sims! Good timing! We have a few visitors who were looking for you.” 

“Were they now?” He crossed to her on legs that he half-expected to give out on him at any moment. “Did they, uh, did they say what they wanted?”

“Something about ‘security’ and ‘imperial business’, probably related to the inspection tomorrow if I had to guess.”

“Inspection, tomorrow, right.” He glanced at the glass doors behind her, wondering if he could outrun a blaster bolt if he absolutely had to. Blasters had a firing speed of 35 m/s so assuming a reaction time of 0.2 seconds and a running speed of 12 m/s and why hadn’t he listened when Sasha teased him for being so sedentary and Tim offered to help him work out and—

“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Sims?”

He barked out a hysterical laugh before he could stop himself, head full of glowing green eyes and the smell of smoke. “I…uh…I-I think I’m going to go home early. Will you let Sasha know?”

“Of course.” She smiled, all kindly and concerned. “I hope you feel better.”

“Yes, I rather hope so, too.” He stumbled over his own feet walking away but managed to catch himself. When he looked back Rosie was frowning, half out of her seat. He cleared his throat. “Um…Have a good evening, then.”

He managed to make it outside without further incident. Peeking past the front columns to be sure that the coast was clear, he took a steadying breath and hurried down the steps. 

It was a shame: he’d almost gotten his racing heartrate under control when he turned a corner and walked directly into the armored back of a Stormtrooper. The trooper immediately spun and raised their blaster. “Back up! Back up!”

“Alright, alright!” Jon stumbled back, hands raised. “I’m sorry.”

“State your business!”

“I was just going home. I had no idea you were there!” Jon happened to look behind the trooper and met the furious scowl of a weequay woman being held onto by another pair of troopers. A wide red bandana crossed her chest like a sash, and a second weequay with her had a similar scarf around his neck. 

The trooper Jon had bumped into lowered their blaster. “Very well. Move along.”

“Right, sorry. I-I…” Jon tried to slip by but the moment he was within reach the female weequay reached out and dragged him between herself and her captor.

“Back up!”

Both stormtroopers with free hands immediately raised their blasters again. The third held their weapon to the male weequay’s head and Jon didn’t quite catch a hysterical giggle before it could escape. He lowered his voice to address his captor. “Th-the King guaranteed my safety from—“

“I know who you are, archivist,” the female growled in his ear and gave his green robe a sharp tug. “We get out of this, you get out of this.” To the Stormtroopers: “let Trevor go or I’ll kill this one.”

“We have orders to take in all pirates found outside of their pre-established territory,” one trooper barked. “This town is designated Imperial—“

“You don’t know that we’re with any of the pirate gangs,” she said.

“A-actually, your sash and his scarf—“ Jon started to say, only to be reminded of his position by her gauntleted arm digging into his throat. 

“We’re just buying supplies. We have the credits,” the male, Trevor, said slowly. “Let us go and no one has to know any of this happened.”

The troopers didn’t even pause to think about it. “Surrender or we will open fire.”

“Alright, alright.” The grip on Jon's robe didn’t loosen, but the gauntlet moved away from his throat. In a blink the weequay’s hand darted to her side and a dagger sailed into the shoulder gap in the armor of the trooper holding Trevor. They let go and Trevor yanked away, stealing the trooper’s blaster to shoot them in the face. Before their body hit the ground the other two opened fire and the air filled with blaster bolts and dust from shots hitting the houses around them. Julia yanked the robe off of Jon to throw it at the troopers and it landed over the head and shoulders of the closest one.

“Come on, Julia!”

The female weequay abandoned Jon and raced past Trevor while he fired back at the Stormtroopers. Jon didn’t hesitate to follow her and soon he was bolting down the street between the two renegades with shouting and blaster fire close on their heels. 

“King’s gonna kill us when we get back,” Trevor laughed.

“The Empire leeches had it coming,” Julia shouted back. She bared her teeth in a feral grin for Jon. “See? What did I say: we got out so you got out.”

“With Imperial guards on our tail!”

As if to emphasize his point a bolt of red light hissed past his ear and Julia ducked out of its way. It buried itself in the sandstone exterior of a pub and voices inside rose in a dull roar as they passed. 

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

They came upon a crowded bazaar and the pirates ran straight into the gathered shoppers. Jon faltered for just a second too long and yelped when a blaster bolt seared across his calf. The market-goers scattered. Stall owners started dragging down their sand shields or ducked behind their merchandise for cover, customers ran every which way and Jon did his best to weave into the chaos before he could get shot again. He thought he saw a flash of red scarf but when he reached the edge of the mob there was no sign of the pirates. 

“Over there!”

Jon hobbled away as fast as he could, ducking into doorways and around corners with all of his focus on the clanking of Imperial armor at his back. Perhaps it was instinct, or simply long-established habit that brought him around one final corner and suddenly he was within sight of Blackwood’s Books. He ran for it in a blind panic, throwing open the door as soon as it was in reach and setting off the tiny bell hanging over it with a rattle. There weren’t any visible customers so he didn’t get any strange looks when he slammed the door shut and backed away. 

“Hello? Can I help—oh, Mr. Sims!” Martin poked his head around one of the teeming shelves, arms loaded with a heavy-looking box of books. His smile faded the moment he got a decent look at Jon: panting and dusty and favoring his injured leg. A shout from outside yanked Jon’s focus away and he stumbled back a step as a Stormtrooper shouldered in, blaster raised. 

“Freeze! By order of the Emperor—“

Several things happened in quick succession.

The stormtrooper's order was cut off by a startled shout as he flew back out the door even though no one was close enough to touch him. The door slammed closed behind him and Jon jumped as two massive bookshelves crashed into it, blocking it from view. He turned his head and there was Mr. Blackwood, one arm raised and wearing a determined frown. After a beat he looked back at Jon and the frown melted into a sheepish smile. 

Jon stared up at him, paralyzed by the creeping realization. "...No."

He was pulled back to the present situation by something slamming into the door hard enough to make the fallen shelves shudder. “In here! I think one of them is a Jedi!”

“We need to go, now,” Jon stammered.

“R-right, um…this way.”

As far as caves went, Martin figured the one Jon had brought them to was pretty comfortable. Desert nights were cold but the archivist must have been prepared because he uncovered a stash of folders and wrinkled old papers and managed to get a fire going. There had been a few ration packs and a med kit as well so once they’d settled in they sat down near the fire and Martin treated Jon’s leg.

“So…care to explain why you were chased into my shop by stormtrooper? They didn’t catch you reading illegal books, did they?” He said it jokingly but Jon just hunched in on himself a little further and stared fixedly at the fire. Martin kept his touches gentle, but every brush earned a stifled flinch. That didn’t stop him from trying. “Right…”

He pinned the last of the bandages in place with practiced proficiency. As soon as he lifted his hands away the man shoved himself to his feet and Martin barely stopped himself from pulling him back. Jon, understandably, seemed to be in a mood and if Martin had learned anything growing up as he had it was to know when to help and when to sit back and wait. While Jon paced on the other side of the fire like a caged nexu, Martin carefully put the kit away. Jon stopped pacing to watch when Martin carefully levitated it back into its hiding place and Martin couldn’t quite swallow down his giddy pride like he was showing off a project he was proud of. His mastery of the Force was a project in a way, and he had wanted to show Jon for a long time. 

He just hadn’t thought it would be like this.

“…So…you’re a Jedi,” Jon finally said.

“Uh, y-yeah. Well, Initiate, technically.” Martin reached under his hat to draw down the long thin braid he’d kept hidden for most of his life. “Wasn’t old enough to train with a master yet when the Republic fell.”

“I take it that was your journal, then.” Slowly, stiffly, Jon settled down across the fire from Martin.

“Yeah, I managed to save it when the Temple was attacked. You didn’t happen to—“

“No. I think…I think one of my associates found it. I’m sorry.”

Martin swallowed down the lump in his throat. “That’s okay. I mean, it was just a book, right? Though I guess that explains the stormtroopers.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.”

Awkward, heavy silence fell over the cave. With no reason to hide, Martin tried to distract himself with an old levitation trick he’d learned early in his training: with a few flicks of his fingers he started building a diagram of the Core Worlds with pebbles in the air above the fire. He could feel Jon watching him, so just to show off a little he waved his hand and set it spinning. 

“…Anaxes.”

“Hm?”

“You…you left out Anaxes. Right there, between Corulag and Grizmallt.” Jon’s voice was so soft it was almost drowned out by the crackling flames. 

“Oh, right. Um…” He lifted a pebble and stared at the cloud of drifting rock. Coruscant was near the center, and there was Byss, but which one was Corulag?

With a little grumble, possibly meant to cover a whimper of pain, Jon got up and reached for Martin’s stray pebble. Martin let it drop into his waiting hand and watched curiously as Jon unerringly ducked past Tython to get close to the center and held the rock just above and a little to the side of Coruscant. Martin spread his awareness back to that rock, letting it be carried away with the model’s spin out of Jon’s hand.

“Sorry, didn’t think of it.”

Jon grunted and stepped back out of the display but didn’t sit back down. Earlier, Martin had felt something dark and heavy hanging over him and even now with his attention divided he could still feel it sharpen for a moment. “Yes, well. I suppose most of the galaxy doesn’t, considering it was destroyed almost a quarter-century ago.” He coughed and waved at the diagram. “Is this something they taught Initiates, then?”

Martin laughed, nearly dropping the lowest planets. “No, I don’t think so. We were supposed to train our spatial awareness and concentration and it just seemed like a fun way to do that. It’s a lot easier to be subtle when you’re moving a lot of small things, anyway.” He swallowed. “I, um…I don’t know what other Jedi did. All I have is what I remember seeing and what I wrote in the journal. Not exactly anyone left for me to ask for pointers.”

“Then why would you give it to me? Why give me any of those books if you are in hiding from the Empire?”

The diagram fell a few centimeters before he managed to catch it. “I…well…okay, promise that you won’t laugh.”

“I’m not sure what could warrant laughter in our current situation, Mr. Blackwood.”

Martin stole another glance at him. In the firelight, Jon looked fierce and grim. “I, um… I thought that maybe you were a Jedi too. Like, a fully-trained master.”

There was a full six seconds of dead silence. Then, Jon spluttered. “What?!”

The rocks fell again and Martin gave up on catching them. “It was like something out of a story! An old man happens to find his way to my store, asking about my people? I thought that maybe you were testing me or something, making sure I was trustworthy before revealing yourself so you could properly train me into a real Jedi!”

Jon made a choked sound and eased himself back down. “’Like something out of a story’? I realize that you spend your life working with books, but you do know there’s a difference between fiction and non-fiction?”

“I can literally lift fully-grown banthas with the Force and you’re giving me a hard time about wanting to find just one person like me?”

Jon crossed his arms and curled in on himself, exuding feelings both prickly and refreshingly familiar. “…Old man?”

“Well, I-I mean, your hair? And the formal ‘please Mr. Blackwood, I am the head archivist’ way of talking and…well, it’s all rather old-fashioned, so…”

“I was six years old when the Republic fell, Mr. Blackwood. That hardly makes me an old man.”

Martin stared at him, waiting for some sign that he was joking. 

Jon just scowled. “What?”

“No way. Are you telling me…am I actually older than you?”

“What?”

“I can’t believe this,” Martin muttered. “I turned seven just after the Fall and you…I mean, I sort of knew you couldn’t really be a Jedi, the odds were so…but—“

"Some people happen to not look their age! It happens"

"Sure, but the only times you don't act like someone twice ours is--...Oh, you really love your trivia, don't you? The way you light up when you have something good--"

“Alright, alright. Enough!”

The quiet crept back in, chasing away the moment of levity.

“…Jon?”

“Hm?”

“What…What do we do now?”

Jon sighed, slowly easing out of his ball of embarrassment. “…We get you off-world, I suppose. Now that the Empire knows you are here nowhere will be safe to hide.”

“How will we do that? I don’t know about you but I don’t exactly have any spare starships laying around the shop.”

Jon frowned but the feeling coming off of him wasn’t unsteady like confusion. If anything, it had the weight of resignation. “There’s someone who owes me a favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments last chapter! I really, really appreciate them <3 I'll start replying soon, I just want to get a little more story up. 
> 
> Guess who had this mostly edited except for one paragraph last week, and then proceeded to cut 500 words. XP I'm not used to having so little backlog already written! How do normal people post without at least five updates-worth pre-written?!
> 
> Next Time: A chat with an old acquaintance.


	3. Chapter 3

The problem, Jon decided, with spending all of his time in town was he was not prepared for a long trek on foot through deep sand. Sure, it blew through town often enough and he and Martin were dressed to deal with that but without constant foot traffic to keep the path solid the ground shifted unsteadily under every step. In all of his planning and paranoia he’d always assumed he’d either have a speeder or a ship available thanks to his assistants. It had somehow never occurred to him that they might be the ones he was running from. 

Evidently, Martin’s Jedi powers weren’t enough to save him from the problem either. He tripped on the loose ground and without thinking Jon caught his arm to steady him. He let go as soon as Martin had his balance back, but not soon enough to avoid seeing his cautious smile. Martin snorted when he stumbled again two steps later. “Maybe we should have gone back to town first, rented a speeder or something.”

“And risk being spotted? This is admittedly not ideal but the most we should have to worry about is the glare and our shoes.”

“And sand people. And pirates,” Martin grumbled. “How do you even have a favor from the local pirate lord? Did you lend them a book or something?”

“She needed help so I helped her.”

“You? Mr. Proper Archivist? You helped a _pirate crimelord_ —“

“She wasn’t the king yet, and just because I helped her doesn’t mean we parted on friendly terms,” Jon said. “I am fairly certain that she will help us if only to erase the debt, but tensions between the pirates and the Empire are still high. Do not do anything to advertise your force-sensitivity and let me do the talking.”

“But if they hate the Empire so much wouldn’t it help to show we’re on their side?”

“Florrum may be a barren rock on the edges of Imperial territory but if the Emperor found out there was a Jedi hiding on it he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate anyone hiding them. The king will know that, too.”

“So she’d refuse to help us if she thought she’d get caught?”

“Or hand us over herself.” They reached the top of a dune and in the distance Jon spied a pair of dewbacks lumbering across the sand. Even from where they stood the red scarf on one rider’s arm was clearly visible and after a moment the pirates turned their way. “Remember: no force demonstrations and let me do the talking.”

“I know, I know. I don’t want an audience with the emperor any more than you do.”

The pirates split up to circle them as soon as they got close and Martin let out a little squeak when one of the beasts growled and snuffed at his shoulder. Jon forced himself not to look at the mounts, holding eye contact with the rider in front of them. “We seek an audience with the King.”

The weequay behind them scoffed. “What makes you think she’ll speak to you?”

“We made an accord—“

“She’s told us to stay away from your stupid library. She hasn’t said anything about letting you speak to her.”

“Fine. Don’t and we’ll find out what she has to say about it. Or, you could bring us to her and we can find out what she is or is not willing to allow.”

“Or we could just kill you,” the pirate in front of them said. “Save everyone the trouble.”

“Th-that does go directly against our agreement,” Jon stammered. “And you would threaten an Imperial employee while the Emperor’s forces are out here for the first time in years? What do you think would happen if you gave them a reason to attack?”

The pirates looked at each other. Jon held his breath.

“What could it hurt? It’ll be fun to see her chew out someone else for once.”

The one Jon had been speaking to rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Mouthy, you’ll ride with me. Your buddy can ride with Toni.”

The pirates did not bring them further southeast, the direction Sasha had said they were moving in. They instead rode due west and Jon found himself leaning forward to get his first glimpse of the Ribcages long before the sandstone cliffs could start to rise around them. The Ribcages were a series of wind-hollowed canyons and tunnels through the cliffs south of Galleo, named for their arching rooves like ribs of stone. Jon had seen photos of the formations but never ventured out in person and so as the walls closed around them he eagerly took in every detail. Soot scored the walls and floor of the canyon where campfires had been and in some places a scrap firepit still sat unattended. The sandy ground was churned up, covered by footprints and sharp-edged drag marks. A few stacks of crates and rusty metal remained but the open space left behind and scattered remains of equipment and cargo brought to mind empty warehouses and Jon wished he could have seen it while it was active. Even with so much of the base in the process of being moved out there were a few tents still standing and their guides led them to the entrance of the largest one. Another weequay sat outside with a book open on his knee and a gun at his side. He blinked up at them, unconcerned.

“Is the king in?”

“She was pretty busy organizing the next shipment to Felucia, but she might be able to see you,” the guard said. 

“You two, stay here and keep quiet.” Their guide hopped off her mount and ducked inside without hesitation. The guard gave Jon a lazy once-over but when he noticed Martin his face split in a warm smile. “Martin, your recommendation is actually pretty good!” He lifted the battered book.

“Ooh, how far are you? Have you gotten to the—“

“Mr. Blackwood,” Jon hissed.

“Mr. Sims,” Martin quipped back.

“We’re not here on a social call.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “There’s no reason not to be a little sociable.”

“We are literally here to ask for help from someone who threatened to kill me the last time we spoke. It is prudent that we make a decent impression, and chatting up a guard while he is on duty is not it.”

“You forgot to mention that part.”

“Yes, well, there isn’t anything to be done about it now.”

“Maybe if you were a little friendlier she would be more willing to help.”

“Not for this one,” the guard laughed. “The way I hear it they were practically made to butt heads. Honestly, I don’t know how they managed the trip from Coruscant without killing each other.”

The smile fell right off of Martin’s face and he turned sharply back to Jon. “You’re from Coruscant?”

Jon grimaced but before he could reply the tent flap was pulled aside. “Alright, let’s make this quick. We’ve got a lot to do besides coddle off-worlder academics.”

As Jon ducked through the flap he caught a glimpse of the guard fist-bumping Martin. “Good luck, she’s been in a mood today.”

“Thanks, Andy. Enjoy the book!”

Inside the tent was much more what Jon had been expecting. Racks of weapons glinted along the walls. A thick carpet led towards the back of the pavilion, suggesting what may once have been a shade of red that time had dulled to a soft brown. His feet sank into it as he approached the crate that was, judging by the holo-map hovering over it, being used as a war table. Two weequay were arguing over the map, hands nearly jabbing into the projection. Jon recognized one of them as Trevor from the day before.

“That’s enough.” The final occupant of the room sat on a tall throne of shipping containers. All of the pirates wore a red bandana or sash and she was no exception with a red velvet scarf around her neck and scuffed red cane leaning against her leg, nearly bumping her holstered blaster. Her skin was just as craggy as every other weequays, made rougher by a quartet of deeper furrows that dug from the corner of her jaw up across her sightless eyes and ending just above her brow. A rusted crown of sharp-edged scrap rested upon her head and she twirled a polished dagger in her fingers. Over her head, a reek’s skull glowered down at the room. The arguing died down, replaced by a tense, expectant silence as she scowled down towards the visitors. 

Jon cleared his throat. “Ah, Melanie. You seem to be doing well.”

Her frown twitched up into a smirk. “What did I say to you when we landed on this ugly rock? Oh, yeah: if I ever see you again, I’ll use your skull as a doorstop.”

He swallowed past his suddenly dry throat. “I remember.”

“Then why the hell would you bumble your way into my camp and demand an audience?”

“You know that I wouldn’t have come without a good reason—“

She pointed sharply at the ceiling. “You’d better because _Imperials_ are swarming my planet’s atmosphere and I am busy trying to move bases and keep my transport ships off their radar!”

“I made a mistake and now my associate and I need assistance leaving Florrum.”

She laughed. “Of course. What did you do, burn the wrong book? Miss dotting an i on some snobby form? I’ve told my crew to leave you and your precious library alone. I don’t owe you anything.”

“How is the leg, by the way,” he asked. “Probably considerably better than it would have been, had it been filled with nexu teeth.”

“You helped her kill a nexu,” Martin whispered.

“I gave her the tools to kill a nexu,” Jon corrected. 

“Yes, and I’ve kept your little paradise safe. We are even,” Melanie growled. 

“Not quite. I saved your life in that pit and smuggled you all the way out here. The way I see it you still owe me.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before she pulled a blaster from her calf holster and the room filled with the clicking of raising blasters. “The way I see it I can kill you now and not owe anyone anything.”

Jon held perfectly still, even as his heart began to beat faster. “You’re bluffing.” 

She cocked her blaster. “Am I?”

“If you killed an employee of the Empire—“

“But you’re not, are you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me, which begs the question of why you’re running and if it’d be better to hand you over warm or cold?” She stood up, blaster still pointing unerringly at his head. “Give me a reason you’re worth letting live.”

All around them, the blades and staffs and guns began to rattle in their racks. Jon looked up, as did the pirates, but there was no low drone of a ship’s engines passing over. Instead the shaking branched out to the crates and the map flickered with the shuddering of the table. Then, slowly, everything began to lift off the ground and Jon turned to see Martin’s eyes closed and one hand outstretched. 

“You’ll help us because I’m politely asking you to.”  
“Mr. Blackwood—“ Jon hissed.

“He brought a Jedi,” Trevor snarled. He shifted his blaster to aim at Martin, only for it to be yanked out of his hands and it spun up towards the ceiling. The canvas sides of the tent around them began to flap with the force of the wind that began circling around Jon and Martin. All the while, Melanie stood perfectly still. 

Jon flinched back and nearly bumped into Martin. “Mr. Blackwood, put the room down!”

Martin frowned but lowered his arm. All around them the shuddering subsided and gravity regained its hold, although Trevor’s blaster landed out of his reach. Melanie for her part just tilted her head thoughtfully. “That explains why you were desperate enough to come to me.”

The door flaps burst inward and the guard poked his head in. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about, Andy. Go back to your post,” Melanie drawled and flopped back into her seat. 

With another wary look around he did just that. The remaining weequay looked at each other nervously.

“What’re you thinking, boss?” Trevor glowered at them, stooping to pick up his gun. “If the Empire finds out we let a Jedi slip through our fingers the band is dead.”

“If the Emperor finds out there’s one anywhere on Florrum we’re all dead,” she replied. She flipped the dagger in her free hand. “Jon.”

“Y-yes?”

“Your library has access to all military documents, right?”

He hesitated. “With the right credentials, as long as it has been entered into the virtual database…I suppose.”

She pointed the dagger at him. “You’re still an archivist?”

“Head archivist, actually—“

“Alright.” She leaned back in her throne, regal even with the weapons in her hands. “I want the call channels for all active branches of the Emperor’s army in the Outer Rim.”

Jon waited for her to laugh or smirk or otherwise take it back. When she didn’t he stammered: “you’re joking, right? All sensitive military information has been under tighter security since the attack on Scarif! Even with an archivist’s credentials to access it I would likely be immediately questioned about my intentions with it and with troopers now on the ground—“

“Not really my problem,” she interrupted him. “I don’t care how I get them, just get me those channels and I’ll arrange for a ride to Felucia. I have a buyer there who, for the right price, might be able to send you towards the Rebellion.”

“I’m not interested in joining the Rebellion,” he spat. “I just want somewhere I can lay low and continue my research.”

“I-I, um, I wouldn’t mind help finding them,” Martin mumbled.

Jon snorted. “You want to join a group of…of anarchistic criminals—“

“Like you said: nowhere is safe for me now that the Empire knows I exist. If I’m going to die I want it to be fighting for something, doing some good. It’s what a Jedi is supposed to do, isn’t it?”

“ _’There is no death, only the Force’_ ,” Jon quoted mockingly. 

Rather than look irritated, Martin lit up. “You know the—“

“Frankly, I don’t want to know where you’re going,” Melanie cut in. “You want my help? That’s my offer.”

“It’s a better deal than the Empire’ll give you,” Trevor added.

Jon ground his teeth. He wanted to argue with that. He really, really did but the only other person with access to ships he might have been able to convince to help him was still out on a bloody file pick-up. He looked at Martin and Martin just looked calmly back, like Jon’s agreement wasn’t literally a choice between escape and capture. Jon scowled back. Martin’s mouth quirked up into a smile.

“…Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll need a datapad to download them to but assuming the troopers are more invested in finding an exiled force-sensitive than a heretic I…I should be able to get in and out. Probably.”

“Great, super, just get out of my camp,” Melanie said. “Andy should be good to give you a lift to the edge of town since someone antagonized the troopers yesterday.” 

“Not my fault they went after the first weequay they saw,” Trevor grumbled. 

One of the others rooted through a box. The datapad they pulled out was cracked and the screen flickered a little but it seemed functional enough. Melanie led the way out, stopping in front of Andy and waving her dagger in Jon’s general direction. “Bring this one back to town and wait outside. No point freaking out the helmets if we don't need to.”

“Right, no problem!”

“Bring ‘im back here when you’re done. If he’s got what we want we’ll handle everything else then.”

“If Mr. Blackwood is not present when we return or you contact the Stormtroopers I will destroy the files before you can retrieve them,” Jon said. 

Melanie waved dismissively. “Sure, fine. Just get me those frequencies so we can both be done with each other.”

Martin frowned. “Wait, what do you mean, if I’m not present? I’m going with you.”

“No, a smaller group is less likely to draw attention.”

“But what if you get caught?”

“Better alone than in the presence of a Jedi.”

“I can’t help you if I’m not there.”

“I don’t need your help!” Jon’s shout echoed faintly off of the stone walls surrounding them and he winced.

“Quay, I don’t care what you decide just do it quickly!” With a huff, Melanie ducked back into the pavilion. “Come on, we’ve got deliveries to arrange!”

Most of the pirates followed her back in. One flopped into Andy’s seat and turned pointedly out towards the horizon. Andy scurried over to a speeder that sat half-buried in fuel tanks and crates. Jon and Martin were left, in affect, alone. 

“…Jon,” Martin began quietly.

“You’ll stay here, and when I get back we’ll go meet this… associate on Felucia, and they will get you where you’re going.” He didn’t, couldn’t, look directly at Martin while he said it.

For a long moment Martin was silent. Then: “…Fine. Be careful.”

The rumble of the speeder powering up made them both jump and Jon caught just the hint of a smile from Martin as he coughed to cover his surprise. “Yes, well. You are always teasing me for just that. It’s almost a relief to have an inarguable reason this time.” He hesitated. “Um…you as well. I trust Melanie more than most outlaws, but only just.”

“I will.” 

“Let’s get going,” Andy called with a rev of the speeder.

“Right, well…” With an awkward nod to Martin, Jon hurried to hop on. The worn engine gave a roar as they started moving, nearly drowning out Martin as he called after them.

“May the Force be with you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: A return to the Archives and a high-profile visitor.
> 
> Quick Star Wars notes: a reek is pretty much a bigger, more aggressive rhino and a nexu is basically what happens when you cross a tiger and the Cheshire cat :)
> 
> Apologies for the delay! Cutting back from over an hour a day to write to just over twenty minutes is making finding a groove hard. Shout-out to my best friend for watching _Clone Wars_ with me to remind me why I'm excited to eventually get to Wasskah >:P 
> 
> Thank you for all of the sweet comments! I was up in the wee hours checking to see if anyone had said anything and they all have been a major motivator to keep going <3


	4. Chapter 4

Overnight, Galleo had become no better than the capital: Stormtroopers marched down the nearly-deserted streets in pairs or clustered around civilians with their guns out in pointed displays. Jon kept his head down, watching but never making eye-contact with the Emperor’s soldiers as he hurried towards the soaring turrets of the Library. He was much more careful going around corners that the last time he’d been in town so when he was stopped it was by a voice rather than a collision.

“You there!”

He froze, paralyzed by fear as a pair of Stormtroopers jogged up to him. They loomed in front of him, identical helmets glaring down at him and he braced himself.

“Are you familiar with Blackwood’s Books?”

“Y…yes. I’m familiar with it.”

“What do you know about its owner?”

It took a little effort to get words past his dry throat. “I, um…he’s about the only person on Florrum who sells physical books as well as holos.”

“What about friends? Do you know where he might go when not at work?”

“Not a clue. He, ah…he never talked much about himself. We talked about books of course, on occasion. He confessed to a fondness for creative novels and poetry. I’ve never seen the point myself. More practical to read non-fictitious works—“  
“Alright, alright, that’s enough. Have you seen him at all since yesterday afternoon?”

He swallowed. “Um…c-can’t say that I have.”

For an endless moment the two stormtroopers looked at each other and Jon held his breath.

“If you do, contact the authorities. Move along.”

He scurried on.

As many soldiers as he saw in town, he was unprepared when he reached the steps of the Library and was met by a solid row of them standing between him and the front doors. He tried to quietly go by them but was predictably stopped by a raised blaster.

“Halt! No visitors allowed today.”

“But I’m an employee here, the head archivist! Surely we’re allowed to continue working.”

“You’re not in uniform.”

He grimaced and brushed sand from his clothes. “My robe was damaged and we’re not given spares.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“Look, just ask Rosie at the front desk. She’s known me for five years, she can vouch for me.”

The nearest trooper shoved him back with the butt of their rifle. “Move along, this is your final—“

“Oh, Mr. Sims! I thought I heard your voice!”

The Stormtroopers stepped aside to let Rosie come down to join him. Relief made him a little petulant. “Ah, Rosie. I was hoping you could tell them that I am indeed employed here.”

“You don’t need to worry about him, I don’t think he could hurt a fly if he wanted.” She hooked her arm through his. “If you need me to disrupt the inspection to find his employment records…”

With a glance at each other the troopers stepped back to let them pass and Rosie ushered Jon in. “You’re a little late to meet the inspector with the team but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind stopping to—“

“A-actually Rosie, I’m still not feeling 100%. I was just stopping in to pick up a few things to work on while I’m home.”

“Oh.” She patted his arm. “Well, in that case I’ll just leave you to it. Sasha was looking for you. Should I find her?”

“No! No, I uh…if I speak with her I’ll end up getting wrapped up in a report and never leave. You know how easy that is.”

“With the number of times I’ve asked you to lock up? I can believe it.”

They parted ways at the Archive door and he poked his head in before sneaking inside. It was just as deserted as the last time, and his desk drawer just as empty when he checked it. He nearly turned back when he opened the door to the archivists’ data terminal and found a neat spread of files waiting on the desk, probably mid-recording. There was however no sign of Sasha. 

“May the inspector keep her occupied a little longer,” he mumbled and closed himself in. It was easier to squeeze into the cramped chair when he wasn’t loaded down with reports and once settled he pushed the paused recording aside on the holo-screen so he could pull up the database. The motions were so familiar as to be muscle-memory and all-too-soon he was hesitating over the log-in screen. He tentatively plugged in his password and braced himself for it to deny him, to have his account flagged and for the attempt to call the troopers outside down on his tiny room… but after a beat the screen flashed to the database’s search page. He allowed himself a momentary slump of relief before moving along to the task of finding the communication frequencies. 

“It’s not like the detention centers,” he muttered to himself as he typed. “Someone with enough time and a very good radio could probably isolate most of these themselves. The Empire will be so busy looking for Martin and dealing with the Rebellion that they won’t even notice—“

The terminal chirped and he jumped in his seat, knocking a file onto the floor and painfully jabbing his knee into the desk. Cursing, he checked that the notification was just for his search results before leaning down to pick up the displaced papers. He paused, squinting in the dim light of the terminal. 

His own face glowered back at him from the open file: his ID photo from younger days. It wasn’t much younger, just four or five years, but there were fewer silver streaks in his hair and fewer creases around his stiff smile. _Jonathan Sims_ , the file announced. _Alma Mater: Coruscant Capital University. Previous Position: Research in the Lord Magnus Grand Imperial Library of Coruscant. Reason for Transfer:..._

The door handle at his back rattled and he dropped the file again. The door opened, light spilling in through the widening crack—

“Oh, you don’t need to look in there,” Sasha’s voice cut through the quiet. “I was recording when you got here. Bit of a mess, really.”

Jon held perfectly still, not even daring to breathe, as the crack narrowed.

“Is that so,” a masculine voice replied.

“You know how it is: some of these older files tie in to so many newer ones that you need a dozen of them to get the full context and before you know it you have a mountain in front of you.”

The door slowly closed. “So they do, hence the importance of digitizing and organizing everything.”

“Jon’s probably recorded more files than the rest of us combined. We get some really interesting old reports from the outposts around here if you wanted to take a look.”

“Please, lead on.”

Jon waited to be absolutely sure they were gone to let out a breath. His hands shook almost too hard to type as he turned his focus back to filtering the database records. Of course it couldn’t have been as simple as searching for the frequencies directly so he resorted to searching for active ships to trawl their contact logs. There were many familiar names from his work: Commander Blake of Alderaan, General Nolan of Dantooine; he was a little surprised to find a recent mention of Tim’s little shuttle, The Rogue Element, out near Yavin when he’d been dispatched to make a pick-up over in Lothal…but he supposed it could conceivably have been on the way back if he’d swung out to avoid a purrgill migration. Once Jon had collected as many channels as a pirate ship could need to avoid imperial inspections he saved them to the borrowed holopad and hurriedly logged out. The recording Sasha had been making stared at him tauntingly from the corner but cowardice won out and he gathered his meager supplies without touching it. 

The room was utterly silent when Jon eased the door open so, thinking the tour must have moved on, Jon slunk out.

“It is good to see someone still hard at work.”

Jon yelped and dropped the holopad, spinning to face the speaker. The visitor appeared to be a human male. Slim, slightly shorter than average, wearing dark tinted glasses and a neat green velvet waistcoat with a black silk tie. Embroidered on the right side of the waistcoat, over his heart, was a stylized owl: the emblem for the Magnus Library. The man smiled like Jon’s shock amused him.

“Y-you must be the inspector,” Jon stammered.

“Quite.” Still smiling, the man gracefully leaned down and retrieved the shabby holopad from the floor. He brushed it off and the flickering screen went dark. “You’re the first person I’ve seen actually doing their job since I got here, aside from dear Rosie.”

“The others are probably just trying to make you feel welcome.”

“As ‘welcome’ as they are making me feel it does make it rather difficult to observe,” the inspector said. “I take it you are one of the archivists?”

“Head archivist,” Jon corrected automatically and winced.

Rather than seem offended, the inspector smiled wider. “Oh? Then you must be Jonathan Sims.” He held out the holopad. “Elias Bouchard of the Grand Library. I’ve heard a bit about you.”

“Jon is fine. H-have you?”

Elias spared him a smirk. “Nothing but good things, I promise. You burn the midnight oil quite a bit.”

“Ah, yes, well…” He waved lamely at the shelves surrounding them. “We have quite a lot to do. Sasha and Tim work hard as well.”

“Ah yes, Ms. James was kind enough to show me around. Usually it’s the head archivist who gives me the grand tour.”

“I-I’ve actually been out. Ill,” Jon stammered. “I only came in to pick up a few things. Working from home and all.”

That made Elias grin. “I see. Well, I’d best let you go on your way.”

“Yes, right. Thank you, Mr. Bouchard.” With a shaky bow, Jon turned to head for the door out to the lobby.

“Actually, you may want to cut through the main library. My security detachment was just checking things at the front desk before joining me. No need to alarm the troopers by being seen out of uniform.”

Jon glanced down at his disheveled clothes. “Oh, uh…yes. Thank you.”

Elias nodded and headed into the stacks. “Until next time, Jon.”

Jon didn’t waste any more time standing around. He crossed the archives as quickly as he could without running and didn’t stop until the door closed between them.

Rosie looked up from her visitor logs as he ducked by her desk. “Find what you needed, Mr. Sims?”

“Yes, ah, thank you, Rosie.”

“Just a moment and I’ll see you out.”

While she made a note on the visitor logs he dithered anxiously, glancing from the front entrance to the tiny doorway to the archives and back at the big glass doors behind them. In a moment of déjà vu he watched a pair of Stormtroopers corner a harried-looking librarian at the top of the stairs to the Library’s second landing. 

“…Alright, let’s get you out of here before—“

The entire building shook. Jon caught himself on the desk, shrinking against it until the ground felt stable again and Rosie ducked under the desk itself. A fine rain of dust skittered down from the lofty ceiling. Jon met Rosie’s wide-eyed stare over the edge of the desk as a tense silence filled the library, broken only by the hum of the terminals and climate control.

Then, the building shook again.

“MG-158, MG-118, stay here and guard the data terminals! All other units, follow me!”

Jon stood frozen as a half-dozen Stormtroopers ran past the desk towards the front doors. When they hissed open they let in the hum of ship engines and the all-too familiar whine of blasters firing. Panicked voices rose around them. 

“You should go,” Rosie said.

“Y-yes, ah, thank you again.” Before his fear could paralyze him, Jon shoved himself away from the desk and towards the sounds of fighting. 

“Jon!”

He stumbled but didn’t pause for more than a quick glance back. Sasha raced out of the library, burning eyes fearless and centered solely on him. Outside, the sounds of what could only be an attack continued. Between the battle he mostly understood and the uncertainty of what his former assistant would do if she caught him, it was almost easy for Jon to run out into the chaos.

~~~

Once the growl of the speeder had stopped echoing through the canyon a bland quiet settled over the camp. Reaching out for the pirates’ feelings didn’t return much more than the sharp edge of what could have been high frustration or low anger so for the moment it seemed that they weren’t planning on betraying Jon. It should have been a relief but after the excitement of their flight from Galleo and with the exhaustion of calling on the Force still weighing on his bones Martin just felt restless. After a while of wandering around the camp, he approached the guard. “Um…Toni, right? Thanks for getting us here in one piece.”

The weequay didn’t shift from her watch of the horizon.

“…Have you been a pirate long? Kind of a weird question, but I don’t know how young people tend to start in with piracy so—“

“No offense,” she snapped, “but I’m not interested in chatting-up someone the Empire wouldn’t hesitate to incinerate a city to kill.”

He shrank back. “Ah…right, ‘course.”

“I don’t know how long you’ve been hiding out with your books, but out there…” She waved at the open sky peeking through the gaps in the stone roof. “…You can’t walk two steps without stubbing your toe on a trooper. If you’re going to make it to the Rebellion in one piece you’re going to have to learn to shut up and keep to yourself.”

He crossed his arms. “Maybe, but I’m only here thanks to the friends I’ve made. Even Jon helped me because we’re…well, I thought we were friends.”

Toni snorted. “He didn’t need to get along with the King to drag her all the way out here.”

“He was still kind enough to see someone who needed help and help them.”

“So he did it out of the goodness of his heart? You’ve been in hiding for twenty years. You should know just as well as I do that there’s always a price. Everyone’s looking for some way to profit. Your archivist didn’t collect right away but the minute the King was in a position to give him what he wanted he sent a message to cash that debt in.”

“Well, what could he possibly want from me? I’m not some pirate lord, I’m not connected to anybody important, I’m just…me.”

She shrugged. “Not my problem. I’m just saying I’d think twice before trusting some Imperial peon to save me without knowing what they want out of it.”

“Well…what about Melanie? Why do you trust her?”

“I don’t. Around here you either gain power by taking it from whoever has it first or you work for someone who does. We help her manage things here and we get a cut of what she takes. It’s cooperation for survival. Eventually someone stronger will come along and we’ll either die or pledge ourselves to them.”

“No honor among thieves, huh?”

She didn’t answer and they lapsed back into the uncomfortable quiet. Rather than try to talk to re-initiate conversation Martin ended up wandering over to the dewbacks where they’d been left tied outside the main tent. The muffled voices within suggested the pirates had picked their earlier argument back up. He reached towards the closest dewback and it sidled away with a low grunt, it’s beady eyes focused on him. With a last look to be sure Toni wasn’t watching Martin raised his hand and reached out through the Force to the big lizards.

“What do you think, huh? You don’t mind working for these pirates, do you?”

The dewback grunted again and slowly leaned into his hand. After a couple of pats it grumbled and butted his chest with its scaly nose. Martin grinned.

The voices grew louder and Martin shifted a little closer to the animals as the arguing pair of pirates emerged from the tent. Trevor scowled at him as they passed. “Not mind-controlling the animals, are you?”

“No! I-I mean, it’s not technically. It’s not ‘controlling’—“

“Leave off, Trevor. We won’t get those channels if he’s hurt when Jon gets back.” Melanie stepped out, one arm loaded with weapons, the other holding her cane out in front of her. “If the mounts start acting weird after though, I won’t stop you.”

“If this one doesn’t say anything how will the archivist know?”

In a move almost too fast to see Melanie’s cane swung out and caught the back of Trevor’s legs, nearly sending him sprawling into the dirt. “Because I still have a shred of honor. Get that gear loaded up. Oy, Jedi.”

Martin stared at her until she waved the cane at him. “O-oh, right. Sorry.” He stepped out of her way and she stomped up to the dewback he’d been petting. She patted her way down its neck until she found the straps to its saddle and carefully began tying her belongings on.

“Um…Melanie?”

“That’s King to you until Jon gets back,” she said tersely.

“What happens after?”

“After, we’ll have never met.”

“Right. Ah, Ms. King…Jon helped you get out here, right?”

“A long time ago. That’s the only reason you’re not full of blaster bolts.”

He fought the urge to sigh. “I get it, everyone would rather I was dead—“

She spun back towards him, cane waving a few centimeters to his left. “No, you don’t get it. Do you have any idea how much of a risk I’m taking letting you stand around in my base while the Empire scours Galleo for a whisper of you? I’m not just putting me or these bozos at risk. I have an entire gang hunkering down at the new base, contacts in every backwater excuse for a town on this planet and business partners off-world that his Imperialness would love to make an example of. Every second I let you twiddle your magic thumbs here I’m putting all of them at risk.”

“Then why did you change your mind?”

She frowned up at him, the cane still waving threateningly about ten centimeters from his shoulder. After a moment it dropped and she snapped past him at her crew. “We don’t have all day! Keep working!”

Trevor and the other pirates hurriedly went back to loading speeders. With a satisfied nod, the King returned to her own task and lowered her voice. “To get Jon off my back, and honestly if you’ve survived this long with the guts to stand up to me…I don’t know. I guess I’m curious to see if you’ll make it.”

He scowled at the back of her head. “Glad I’m such a curiosity, then.”

In the distance, a low roar rumbled over the sands. All around Martin the pirates went silent and still. The sound continued to build and Martin took a step towards the mouth of the canyon but the King grabbed the back of his shirt. It had been a long time since he’d last seen one, but Martin still knew the shape of a TIE-fighter well enough to recognize it as one shot over the camp. It didn’t slow down and once the growl of its engines began to die off Toni spoke up quietly. “Passing through?”

A breath later a different sound rose: a higher-pitched whine, preluding an x-wing as it sped past in the same direction as the TIE. A thin trail of smoke lingered behind it. Another x-wing raced along not far behind.

“…Let’s get a move on with those supplies,” Melanie said calmly. 

The rest of the crew burst back into action, rushing to get as much as they could loaded as quickly as possible. 

“I thought the Empire doesn’t use x-wings,” Martin said. 

“They don’t,” Toni murmured. She stood pressed to the canyon wall, blaster ready. “It looks like the Rebellion’s finally come to Florrum.”

“That’s good, right? They’ll keep the Stormtroopers distracted.”

“Or bring more here.”

The ships flew back over, this time adding the sharp screeches of their guns as they shot at each other.

“Even if they don’t we don’t want to get caught in their crossfire. We’ll wait for them to move away again and make a break for it. Trevor, Anaya, stay together. The rest of us will meet you back at the base.”

“The new base? What about Jon? If there’s fighting all the way out here—“

“Then he just fell a little lower on the helmets’ priority list. If we don’t get out of their way there won’t be anyone for him to deliver to. Do something useful and help me get the dewbacks loaded up.”

It was almost physically painful, but he turned his back on the dogfight over the desert. “Fine, fine. What do you need?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, Wednesday: Hm...let's quickly re-write the last quarter-page of the new update and get it up.  
> Me, 1500 words later: ...oh no...


End file.
